These turning days

Countdown to term holidays – FOUR DAYS TO GO!

I may even get some marking done.

My Saturday was devoted to marking, housework, friend time and babysitting; my Sunday to brunch, art, and A SECRET PROJECT. I had a mild desire, but no pressing urge, to blog the second half of the week, and then my next Food Bag turned up (at the wrong house, but I worked it out) and it was time to start again.

So here: pictures. ALSO, are some of these turned around the wrong way for you? They frequently are for me, and even when I get them right on my desktop they’re wrong on my phone. If you know how to fix it, please tell me.

Wednesday night was a tasty lamb and roast vege salad. The most exciting thing that happened in its creation was that I ran out of baking paper and used foil instead; also that I added potatoes and carrots to bulk it out and got three meals out of a recipe for one. Nice, self, nice:

1 lamb and roast vege salad

Thursday’s Sunday’s roast potato salad with egg aioli had more interest in that it required me to grate hard-boiled eggs.

GRATE them! I never knew this was a thing that could be done with eggs. But it can, and it was delightful to carefully drag each egg against the grater and watch it crumble obediently through the holes. I have never grated anything with more ease; not even apples.

2 GRATED EGGS

And here’s what the whole meal looked like:

2 roast potato salad with egg aoli

On Sunday evening, I retrieved my food from the wrong doorstep (we have an idiosyncratically-placed mailbox, and honestly I was expecting this at some point) and opened the fruit box to find NO PINEAPPLE. Huzzah! Instead, there were dates, grapes (niiiice) and a disconcertingly sexy pear:

3 sexy pear

Tonight’s dinner was Fish with Smoky Colcannon Potatoes and Kale (Go On Karen It Won’t Kill You) and also Broccoli Salsa, I Bet You Didn’t Know Broccoli Could Be Salsa.

I chose to recognise this as a knowing nod to my Irish ancestry. Six years ago I visited Dublin for three days and ate a cobb salad at the Hard Rock Cafe in Temple Bar, and ever since I’ve felt very spiritually connected to my Celtic roots.

(I also went to a W. B. Yeats exhibition and detailed for my companion what a total Nice Guy he was. IF SHE SAYS NO TO THE FIRST PROPOSAL, WILLIAM, THAT IS A SIGN. YOU’RE NOT MR DARCY.)

All my cooking life, whether I have steamed it or tossed it in a stirfry, or thrown it into a quiche, I have cut up broccoli one way: I have taken the little tree of the broccoli head and turned it into tiny trees. Sometimes half or a third of a tiny tree, depending on the size of the mouthful I wanted, but the basic tree shape was still discernible.

This time, Nadia instructed me to “finely chop” my broccoli in preparation for weirdo not-salsa, so my tiny trees look like I fed them into a tiny woodchipper:

3 tiny trees

I was supposed to “smash”, not “mash” the potatoes. Wooden spoon, not masher. This could be fun on more frustrating days.

3 colcannon

And here is the fish and colcannon, looking not very like the picture at all:

3 fish and colcannon with picture

Actually, this is about half of it; this was a really huge recipe for one meal, and I put the rest aside for tomorrow’s lunch. I didn’t even eat everything on the plate. Yeats’ revenge!

  • Melissa

    I enjoy reading these posts given that I get the same meal for one bag (but fortnightly instead of weekly. My meal last night came out nothing like the picture either!